


No Mercy

by ideserveyou



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Angst, Blood, Coming of Age, First Time, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Religion, Sacrifice, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-28
Updated: 2011-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/ideserveyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's destiny is hard for him to accept</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A White Horse

They look like ants.  
Small dark figures, swarming over the hillside; gathering for the ceremony that will greet the sunrise.  
I glimpse them between the trees as I creep closer.  
Now I have gone as far as I can; I dare not leave the shelter of the forest.  
I can see my foster-father in his new fur cloak; and my uncle with his white hair; and the Holy One in his white robes, and behind him the apprentice who carries the axe.  
I hate them all.  
And now two more robed figures are coming to join them; between them something gleams in the early light.

A white horse.

They do not know that I am here.  
They must never know that I saw them; that I disobeyed the law, and my foster-father’s stern warnings, and followed after them.  
I ignored the misgivings of my own heart; and now I wish I had not come.  
I do not want to see this.  
But I must.  
I can do nothing to save him; nothing to ease the blow.  
But still I will not leave him.  
If all that I can do is watch him die, then that is what I will do.  
Even though he will never know.

A white horse.

My hands are cold. There is frost on the brambles that hide me, and on the cropped turf on the far side of the valley, where long ago our ancestors – or perhaps giants, or the gods – carved out a sacred image: stripped away the thin pelt of grass and brown crumbly soil to reveal the chalk rock beneath, bone-white and gleaming.

A white horse.

The first rays of the sun strike it: newly cleaned for the occasion, it stands out stark and clear, a beautiful, terrible, ancient thing.  
They lead him – my horse, who is no longer mine – to the slope near its head.  
The sunlight flashes on the axe blade as it rises.  
He screams.  
I see the weapon fall, and the great fountain of blood, and then I hear the dull thud of the impact.  
The scream chokes into silence.  
The scarlet stain spreads: bright and horrifying on the pale spring grass. The white horse of rock feeds on it, and the white horse of flesh crumples and falls and lies still.  
The life of the tribe is renewed.  
But mine is shattered.  
I know that I am weeping, because my face is wet.  
But I feel nothing.  
I am empty inside.  
The axe-blow robbed me of my father’s gift, and of more than they will ever know.  
A faithful heart; a trusted friend; the chief joy of my life.

What is left to me?

One day I will be these people’s leader: so my foster-father told me, over and over, as I raged up and down the hall last night.  
And a leader has to make sacrifices for the good of his people.  
Even had mine not been the only white horse in the village, still it would have been mine that must be given up.  
There was no escape: for him or for me.  
That lessened neither my rage nor my sorrow.  
Nor my resolve …  
Those who are not yet come of age may not witness the ceremony, or the gods will strike them down.  
And yet here I am, and they may strike me down and welcome: if they can!  
I hate them all.  
When I am leader I will forbid this. Thirteen years from now, another horse must die to bring renewal – but by then I will have chosen other gods to follow: gods who do not have to be appeased, and fed on the blood of the innocent.

The Holy One raises his arms. I hear his reedy voice carried on the wind, and the others joining in the chant.  
He holds a white horsetail in his bloody hand; his arms are red to the elbows; the hem of his robe is soaked and stained.  
Behind him a dozen men start to hack and pull at the carcass, stripping off the hide, which will be staked down over the image on the hillside to renew its power.

A red horse …

My gorge rises and I have to turn away. The world is swaying. I fall to my knees and heave and retch onto the chill ground until I am empty.  
I don’t have the strength or will to get to my feet again. I lie with my head buried in my arms, and allow my grief free rein.  
I could weep without end: for the senselessness of the world; for the futile slaughter I’ve just witnessed; for the foolish men who believe in its power. For my birth-father, slain in our people’s defence; for my mother, the last person to touch me in real kindness – and for my foster-father, who I know feels that kindness but cannot permit himself to show it.

And for myself also: bereft, set apart, and alone.

And then I think I must be dreaming. I feel a hand on my shoulder. It is a simple touch; gentle; undemanding; offering comfort…  
I roll over and look up, straight into the eyes of my Saxon sword-brother.  
He snatches his hand away and blushes furiously. ‘Arthur. You should have woken me – not gone without me...’  
He’s been with us for the best part of seven years now, and rarely do we hear him string more than three words together.

Today is different.

‘I …’ His words stick, and then come out in a rush. ‘I didn’t want you to have to see this alone. I would have come with you. I wish it could have been my horse instead. I’d have given him gladly, to spare you this. I’m sorry …’

He has brought water for me. I sit up, slowly, and turn away to wash the bitterness from my mouth.

‘Thank you, Kai,’ I say unsteadily, and hand him back the leather flask; his fingers brush mine, and he shivers.

Silent again now, he passes me a cloth.

He brought this for me too, to dry my tears.

He knew he would find me like this…

I wipe my eyes and then sit with my head bowed to my knees, putting off the moment when I have to face the light again.

And it strikes me that I would be ashamed to weep before any other of the tribe. They would despise me for it; but before my brother I need not be ashamed, for he does not and will not think the worse of me.

‘Should I go?’ he asks, his voice husky and uncertain.

‘No,’ I say, and I reach up and let him pull me to my feet.

‘We’ll go together,’ I tell him.  
And so we do.  
I will not let myself look back, even once, at that hideous place where I know my beloved, beautiful horse lies flayed and steaming on the uncaring ground.

The path back up the hill, is steep and slippery, and I am weary and chilled to the bone.  
I stumble.  
Kai reaches out to steady me as though it is second nature, and we stop to rest for a moment.

His arm around my shoulders is strong and comforting.

Perhaps, after all, they did not take all my joy from me on this terrible day.

This too is my trusted friend.

And as I lean my head on his chest, I can hear the beating of another faithful heart.


	2. No More Tears

I see the axe fall, and then the blood, bright in the clear cold air.  
Then I hear the scream.   
It does not stop.

‘Arthur.’  
Kai is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking me. ‘Hush, you’ll wake Llud.’  
I draw a harsh breath. The metallic taste of blood is in my mouth; I must have bitten my tongue.  
‘Bad dream?’ He knows he does not really need to ask.  
I nod. I am drenched in sweat, but shivering.   
He gets up, and bends over to pull the blankets more closely round me. I reach out and clutch his hand, to keep him near, and he kneels by the bed, his hand still in mine. After a little while, he takes a deep breath and tenses, in the way that he does on the practice ground when he is about to make a move.

Then he gets in beside me.

Yet he does not touch me; he just lies there flat on his back.   
Perhaps he is afraid that I will kick him out.  
I take his hand again, and lay my head on his shoulder, to show him that he is welcome. He sighs contentedly, and his body relaxes against mine. Lulled by his steady heartbeat, I fall back to sleep.

He must have stayed wakeful, for by the time Llud rouses us for morning training, Kai is back in his own bed.  
All that day he is watchful of me. Although neither of us says anything, we both know that something has changed between us.

Llud, too, is watchful, almost as though he knows we disobeyed orders and witnessed the sacrifice yesterday. But we were back in the village well before any of the celebrants, creeping into the longhouse through the loose panel in the corner and emerging from the sleeping place as though newly risen from our beds. In any case, he does not speak of it. I work hard on my swordplay and do my best to convince him that everything is as it was…

And so the life of the tribe goes on, and my brother and I are not struck down by the gods – or by Llud – for our disobedience. We fight, and learn, and grow taller: Kai shooting up like an ash sapling in a wet summer. Soon after the sacrifice, he comes of age, and is allowed to drink and fight with the men. His confidence grows daily, and he talks more, and is popular with the girls. But he does not forget. Still he watches over me; goes with me to the practice ground every day; backs me up in any dispute, and is there whenever the nightmare troubles me, to hold me close and keep me safe.

That autumn, riding alongside Llud, he goes to fight his first battle: leaving me behind with the boys. Torn between jealousy, frustration and fear, I neglect my studies and pick fights for the sake of it. Now, in the evil dreams that still plague me, it is Kai’s body that I see fall onto the blood-soaked hillside…   
But my tall Saxon brother comes back grinning and unscathed, proudly wearing a huge gold ring-brooch he took from his first kill: a warrior whose stature and ferocity grow greater with each re-telling of his tale.

Another two years pass, and the nightmares are less frequent. Now it is my turn to endure the rites of initiation, helped greatly by Kai breaking the rule of silence and telling me what to expect in the darkness of the Holy One’s cave.   
I take great pleasure in out-facing that evil man; in remaining calm and unflinching throughout the ordeal. I know that soon enough I will be in a position to weaken his hold over us, perhaps even to drive him out. The thought cheers me, and I emerge from the darkness with a smile of triumph.

Not long after, I am inaugurated as leader of the tribe: taking my father’s place that is mine by right. There is a great feast in the longhouse, and I have to make a speech to the people – my people, now.   
I am so nervous that I could throw up. But I am growing used to concealing my true feelings behind a shield of arrogance and pride. I don’t really know what I say: something about defending what is right and just, and bringing the Celtic people together, and thanking Llud for leading us for the past few years while I was still too young.   
Afterwards everyone smiles and drinks a toast to me, so it seems that whatever I said was to their liking.

Kai and Llud have been oddly conspiratorial all day. After the mead has gone round for the third time, they look at each other and get to their feet.  
‘Come with us,’ Llud says. ‘We have something to give you to mark this day.’  
They lead me out into the yard; the others follow us, talking and laughing.  
Outside, it is very bright after the smoky dimness of the hall.  
And there stands my family’s gift.

A white horse.

He is already saddled, with one of the stable hands holding his bridle although he is standing still and quiet of his own accord.  
Pure white, with a wise eye and a proud bearing: the war stallion every warrior dreams of.  
The chatter has died away, and everyone is watching. I step forward and lay a hand on my new steed’s shoulder, feeling the warm hide twitch in response.  
‘Thank you,’ I say to the beaming Llud, and ‘Thank you,’ I whisper to my brother, who is standing beside me, and smiling even more widely.

My horse snorts, and lowers his head; pushes his soft nose enquiringly into my face.   
Sudden tears blind me. I blink them back furiously, but I cannot fight them for long.   
I am trapped: fenced in by curious eyes.  
Now the horse is watching me too.  
There is only one way to escape.  
I vault onto his back and seize the reins from the startled servant, and we gallop away, somewhere, anywhere…  
It would be an exhilarating ride if I weren’t sobbing so hard.

The horse slows to a walk and I come to my senses; we are in the meadows, some way from the village.  
I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my new leather shirt, and for a while, I let my mount wander where he will, cooling down.  
I hear hoof-beats behind me; I rein in and wait.  
It is Kai; who else would it be?  
He dismounts and stands looking up at me.  
I swing myself down from the saddle, but my distress and my headlong flight have made me careless and clumsy, and this horse is taller than the one I was riding yesterday. The ground is not where I expected it to be. My feet falter, and I stumble backwards and nearly fall.  
The white stallion whinnies, as though in reproach. Kai snorts as he catches and steadies me. ‘If you’re going to lead us into battle, you’ll have to teach yourself a better dismount. Even your horse is laughing at that one.’  
‘I know,’ I say, looking away from him as my eyes begin to burn again.  
He clouts me lightly on the shoulder. ‘No more tears,’ he says. ‘Here.’ And he hands me a cloth to dry my face.  
He knew he would find me like this…

When I am more or less restored to myself, we ride slowly home, side by side.  
I look across at Kai, and notice that he is no longer wearing the Saxon ring-brooch.  
Now I come to think of it, I have not seen it in some weeks. I ask him where it is.  
‘You’re riding it,’ he says. ‘Along with Llud’s second-best sword and four barrels of mead.’  
He dismisses my stumbling words of thanks with a shake of his head. ‘There’ll be another. Plenty of other Saxon gold still waiting out there.’ He looks at me sidelong. ‘You needn’t think I’m going to let you be the first to all the spoils of battle. Even if you are now a man, and my leader…’   
His brow furrows, and he says little else all the way home.  
But then, he is often quiet. I think nothing of it.

Through the summer, I have scarcely any time to think idle thoughts. There is much work to be done, and now I am the one who must do the lion’s share.   
My people keep me busy with decisions to make, disputes to arbitrate, battle plans to devise…  
Llud’s advice and experience are invaluable, but even so the responsibility is overwhelming at first, even though I have spent much of my life preparing for it; then I get the measure of it a little, and it no longer seems impossible, merely daunting.

Most nights, as soon as my head hits the sheepskin, I fall asleep and stay asleep, and now the nightmare rarely comes.

My brother continues silent and withdrawn. He is most like his former self when we are out with our horses. We spend every spare moment practising new moves with weapons, or racing each other over the hills.  
Kai on his black stallion has always been fast; and now, at last, after two years and more of making do with borrowed mounts, I am once again a match for him.

Mindful of Kai’s words in the meadow, I teach myself to dismount by swinging one leg over my horse’s neck. This lets me face my enemy at all times. At first there are many falls and failures, and I am often grateful that Kai’s strong arm is there between me and the unforgiving ground; but in time I learn to leap down swiftly and safely, and he no longer needs to catch me.

That autumn, new Saxons come, and I fight my first real battles. We are victorious. I am exhausted.

It is so good to be home after weeks on campaign. I fall eagerly back into the familiar routine: household tasks, hunting, training, and of course the duties of leadership.  
These last are far less daunting now that I have proved myself in battle. I have confidence in my ability to lead my people – and they, it seems, have confidence in me. The disputes grow less frequent; the decisions less fiercely contested.  
I am happy in my work.   
But Kai is brooding, although he seemed contented enough while we were away, fighting.  
Perhaps he has had his heart broken by some woman.  
I do not ask. I do not think that he would tell me anyway.

Back in my own bed I sleep untroubled by the nightmare, or indeed by any dreams at all.

One night, when Llud is on a scouting mission, and Kai and I are alone in the sleeping place, the light of a full moon piercing the thatch keeps me wakeful.  
I hear restless fidgeting, and then a sigh.  
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.  
Kai draws a harsh breath, but makes no reply.  
‘Please tell me,’ I say. ‘Something’s been troubling you since we came home – no, even from before that. What is it?’  
There is a pause. Then from the shadows, he says, very sadly: ‘You don’t need me any more.’  
That was not the answer I was expecting – and it cuts me to the core. ‘I do need you,’ I say. ‘Of course I do. I need you to fight beside me, support me, help me train…’  
‘But not to take care of you,’ he whispers.

I cannot speak.  
But my silent brother finds his voice.  
‘That day when they took your horse – I expected you to turn me away. I did not think you would let me help you. But you did. And it gave my life a purpose it had lacked before. I would never have wished you ill, but…’

He chokes on a sob.

‘I lived for those nights when the dream troubled you, and you called for me. I hoped that one day you might ask for more. That we might be… together. But I see now that I was just a childhood comfort. Now you are a man, I must be set aside.’  
‘No,’ I say. ‘Oh, my heart, no. Never…’  
Cursing myself for my own thoughtlessness, I say, ‘Forgive me. So much has changed for me… I never stopped to think how it was for you.’  
He sniffs, and is silent again.  
I make a decision then: bigger and more vital than any battle plan.

‘Kai,’ I say diffidently, ‘will you come here to me?’  
He catches his breath; then gets out of bed and crosses the floor.  
I look up and see him standing beside me, solemn and serious: he knows what this means.  
He takes a deep breath and tenses, in the way that he does on the practice ground when he is about to make a move…

Then he takes off his clothes.

His tall body in its moonlit nakedness is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I throw back the covers and hold out my hand to him.   
He gets into bed beside me, but lies very still, not touching me.   
I reach out to reassure him; he is stiff and awkward, and mutters something about not knowing what he is doing here.  
‘You know what to do in a bed, by all accounts,’ I say, speaking lightly, although my heart is thudding. ‘At least, the girls reckon so.’  
‘There have been a few girls, yes.’ He gropes for my hand; clasps it tightly. ‘But there was only ever one person I really wanted. You.’  
Then he buries his face in my neck. He is trembling, his breathing shallow and unsteady.  
I run my hands over him; soothe him as I would a nervous horse.  
‘Don’t worry,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not going to kick you out for saying that. I’ve been waiting to hear you to say it ever since that day you came to find me in the woods.’  
‘Truly?’ he whispers.  
I take his face between my hands, and kiss his mouth. ‘Truly.’  
He heaves a huge sigh, and says, ‘I wish I’d told you earlier…’  
I kiss him again; no longer afraid that he will bolt in alarm, I wriggle out of my own breeches. He helps me.

And now we are naked together.  
It feels… right. I can’t think why I have made us both wait so long.  
I stroke his back; pull him on top of me. His hardness presses against my belly. My own length is swelling, wedged uncomfortably between my thighs. I don’t know what to do.   
‘Help me,’ I whisper, embarrassed. ‘I’m…stuck.’  
He smiles, props himself on an elbow and arches his body off mine; then reaches down to free me, as though it is the most natural thing in the world.

The feel of his fingers on my prick makes me gasp. No hand has ever touched me there that I can recall, except my own. I thrust against him – I cannot help myself. I’m desperate for more; but he grips me, holding me back, saving me from losing all control… When I am calmer, he releases me, and lowers himself back down, so that we are touching; then he moves slowly from side to side, sending waves of unfamiliar, wonderful sensations washing over me.  
I have never done anything like this before. I expected to feel shame, or apprehension, but I do not. I feel… love.

‘Love?’ he asks, in simple wonder.

I had not meant to voice my thought aloud. But it is right that Kai should know.

‘Yes,’ I say, looking up at him. His face is in shadow, but I can see the gleam of his eyes, and his hair is a silver nimbus around his head. ‘Yes. Love.’  
I reach up and tangle my fingers in that shining silver; pull him down to me for a kiss.  
‘I love you,’ I tell him.   
‘And I you,’ he whispers. ‘I never thought I’d dare to say it, or that you would wish to hear it, but it is the truth... I love you.’

And then he gasps, and moans deep in his throat, and moves his hips more quickly; I know what he wants, as clearly as though he had spoken, and as he lifts himself up a little way I slide a hand down between our hot, damp bellies and wrap my fingers around both of us.   
Our pricks feel heavy, and hard. It astonishes me even to think that, let alone to know the reality of it. I have seen my sword-brother naked a thousand times; but I never imagined how it would be, to touch him. To have him touch me…  
He is bigger. How I envied him for it, when I was younger; but no more. He is mine, and he is perfect.

He moans again, and gives a high-pitched, eager whimper as I move my hand. I feel the slick wetness at his tip and mine, and I know he is as close as I am.   
Suddenly a little uncertain that I can bring us both safely through what is about to happen – ‘Help me,’ I say again. He adds his hand to mine, and now I am the one who is moaning and whimpering.   
‘Hush,’ he whispers. ‘It’s all right.’   
It is more than all right. It is… I do not have the words. It is not often that Arthur, leader of the Celts, is lost for words.   
But I am not the leader in this. Not any more. I am simply Arthur. I surrender myself to Kai, letting him take care of me.

Now we are truly together; and I could ask for nothing more.

I reach my peak just ahead of him, all the tension in my body releasing itself in an ecstatic cry as I spend myself: a sudden flood running over my stomach, through our joined hands. Then he groans, and presses himself against me, and I feel his cock pulse once, twice, and now we are wet and sticky and gasping and weeping and kissing each other as though we will never stop.

‘Oh, my heart,’ I hear myself say. ‘I never knew.’   
He chuckles, loud and deep, all fear and sadness banished. ‘Well, you do now. About time, too.’  
And he peels himself off my front and goes in search of water and a rag; then comes back and tenderly washes me down.  
‘No more tears,’ he says softly, as he dries my face.  
I close my eyes in bliss.

My love. My Kai. My people do not know it, but without him, I could not lead them.

I hold their future in my hands. As he holds my heart in his.


End file.
